Town Tamers

by David Robbins

“It isn’t legal.”

  “I have a town to look after, boy. Now and then I have to stretch the law a mite. Like I’m stretching it now to make damn sure that three troublemakers take their trouble somewhere else.”

  “But I told you,” Byron said, “I have nothing to do with my father anymore.”

  “So you claim.”

  “Why would I lie? All I want is to be left alone to live my life as I see fit.”

  “At the Poetry House.”

  “I love it there.”

  “A Texan who likes poetry,” Marshal Pollard said. “You must take me for an idiot.”

  “I’m being honest with you.”

  “Sure, boy,” Marshal Pollard scoffed. “Sure.” To the others he said, “I’ve listened to enough of his malarky. Get on with it.”

  Just like that, Agar and the other two deputies waded in.

  Byron got his fists up with his arms low to protect his belly. He blocked a punch to the ribs and countered an uppercut to his jaw, but there were three of them and he couldn’t avoid all their punches. His jaw was jarred and his ribs flared, and then a blow caught him on the side of the head and his legs buckled.

  The blow nearly blacked him out. No fist could do that. One of them had resorted to a blackjack, and he found out which when Deputy Agar struck him again across the top of his head.

  Byron struggled to stay conscious, to rise. He clawed at the ground but couldn’t find the strength.

  “Look at him,” Deputy Agar said. “No more sense than a tree stump.”

  “Finish it,” Marshal Pollard said. “But remember. Not the face or anywhere it will show.”

  A rain of pain fell on Byron—kicks and punches that seemed without end—to his chest and stomach and sides and back and even his arms and legs. He felt himself sliding into a black well and desperately clung to the brink.

  Then a hand gripped his chin, and Marshal Pollard said, “Be on that damn train.”

  There was a last blow, and Byron pitched into the well.

  55

  Noona was a light sleeper. Since she had been little, the slightest sound would wake her.

  So it was that in the still hour before dawn her eyes snapped open, and she lay listening and wondering what woke her up.

  The Spencer was on the bed beside her. She had set it there as a precaution. Given the horrible things that Marshal Pollard had done to the people she and her father talked to, she wouldn’t put anything past him.

  A minute went by and the stillness was unbroken, so Noona closed her eyes to catch a few more winks before she had to be up.

  A faint rap on her door brought her off the bed in a bound with the rifle at her hip. It wasn’t a knock so much as a scrape, as if someone had run their hand over it.

  Noona had thrown the bolt so they’d have to bust the door down to reach her. She crept over and put her ear to it but heard nothing.

  Moving to one side in case someone started shooting, she called out, “Is someone there?”

  “Sis, it’s me.”

  “Byron!” Noona exclaimed in delight. She leaned the Spencer against the wall, threw the bolt, and spread her arms to welcome her brother with a hug. “You changed your mind, after all.”

  Byron sagged against the jamb, his body half folded over, his bag and rifle case on the floor at his feet. “Sis,” he said weakly.

  To Noona’s astonishment, he started to collapse. Quickly, she caught him and wrapped her arm around his waist. “I’ve got you.”

  He was god-awful heavy, and it took some doing for her to steer him to the bed. The moment she let go, he fell onto his back and groaned. “Byron?”

  “My things,” he said weakly, his eyes closed. “Don’t leave them in the hall.”

  Noona brought them in and bolted the door. She lit the lamp, then sat on the bed and asked, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “The marshal,” Byron said, and plucked at his shirt, trying to unbutton it.

  Noona helped, saying, “Do you want it off?”

  “You need to see.”

  Noona didn’t understand until the last button was undone and his shirt fell open. “God in heaven,” she gasped. “He did this?”

  “He had help,” Byron said.

  Nearly every square inch, from Byron’s belt to his neck, was covered with bruises. Dark and light bruises. Big and small bruises. One of the worst was low on his ribs.

  “Is your back the same?” Noon asked, aghast.

  Byron nodded, and swallowed. “Back, arms, legs, everywhere but my face. They beat the living tar out of me.”

  “What did you do to provoke them?”

  “It’s so I’ll be sure to be on the train.”

  “I’ll go fetch Pa,” Noona offered, and turned to go.

  “No. Please,” Byron said. “He’d only say I told you so, or give me a look that says the same thing.”

  “We have to tell him.”

  “Let me rest a bit.” Byron closed his eyes and rolled onto his side. “I hurt so much, sis.”

  Tears filled Noona’s eyes. She placed her hand on his head, and swallowed. “Rest as long as you want. I’ll fetch him when you—” She stopped.

  Byron was breathing so loud, it was obvious he had passed out.

  Noona coughed and stood. She was shaking, she was so mad. She grabbed her rifle and went out and down the hall to the next room. She knocked three times, lightly, and was about to knock again when it opened. “You’re up already?”

  Asa was fully dressed. He even had his slicker and derby on. “Never got to bed,” he said, and nodded at the Spencer. “You fixing to shoot somebody?”

  “You need to see,” Noona echoed her brother.

  “See what?” Asa asked.

  “But not a word, you understand? He’s not to know I showed you.” Noona crooked a finger.

  “Who? And show me what?”

  Noona put a finger to her lips and ushered him into her room and over to the bed. She pulled Byron’s shirt wide and let the beating speak for itself.

  Asa swayed and his face drained of color. When he spoke, his voice didn’t sound like him. “Who did this to my son?”

  “Who do you think? They want him on the train with us.”

  “Do we need a sawbones?”

  “He made it here under his own power, and he’s not spitting blood.”

  Asa touched the blackest and bluest of the bruises. “This was done by a boot. They must have stomped on him when he was down.”

  “Just like they did to all those others.”

  “Those others weren’t my boy.” Asa gently placed his hand on Byron’s head. “I was the first to hold him when the midwife pulled him out. She cut the cord and gave him to me. Your mother was too weak. I was the first to hold you, too.”

  “I think I remember that.” Noona tried to make light, but neither of them smiled.

  “It was bad enough, those other folks we heard about,” Asa said quietly. “But this—” The color returned to his face and darkened until he was as red as blood.

  “He still might not help us.”

  “Doesn’t matter if he does or doesn’t,” Asa said. “This goes beyond taming. This is personal. I’d do it alone if I had to.”

  “You’re not alone. You have me.”

  “And me,” Byron said. Wincing, he rose onto an elbow. “I’ll do this last one and then no more.”

  “I’m sorry I brought Pa against your wishes,” Noona said.

  “You don’t hear me complaining.” Byron struggled to sit up, and they had to help him. “Thanks,” he said, and grimaced in pain. “I seem to recall sis saying that we need to do this one smart. Smart how?”

  “So they can’t link it to us,” Noona said. “So the law won’t be after us.”

  “And it would please
me mightily if we could do it so they suffered,” Asa said.

  “I gave it some thought on the way over,” Byron said. “We can start by making them laughingstocks and work our way up to putting windows in their skulls.”

  “That’s my boy,” Asa said.

  Part Five

  56

  The Express locomotive idled just past the station, chugging slowly. Smoke puffed from its stack but not nearly as much as would spew out once the train was under way. The engineer had leaned out to talk to some kids who were fascinated by the metal behemoth.

  Marshal Abel Pollard checked his pocket watch for the fifth or sixth time. “I swear, if they don’t show, I’ll have them run out of town on a rail.”

  “Here they come now,” Deputy Agar said. “And look at the one we beat on. He can hardly stand.”

  At a signal from Pollard, the three extra deputies he’d brought converged from three points of the compass. “Morning, you Delawares,” he said.

  Asa had his carpetbag in his hand and his shotgun under his arm. He set the bag down but not the gun case.

  “You almost didn’t make it,” Marshal Pollard said. “The train leaves in five minutes.”

  “We were delayed.”

  “It’s my fault,” Byron said. “They had to help me into different clothes, and I am mighty slow at things today.”

  “I wonder why,” Deputy Agar said, and snickered.

  “I reckon I bit off more than I can chew,” Byron said. “Congratulations. You have prevailed.”

  “At last some sense out of this family,” Marshal Pollard said. He stepped up so he was practically nose to nose with Asa. “He has more sense than you. You can give me all the free country guff you want, but the fact of the matter is, it’s not free. It’s whatever the law says it is. And since I’m the law—” He shrugged.

  “Us leaving,” Asa said. “Is it your idea or Arthur Studevant’s?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “That tells me right there. I must have gotten him mad and not known it.”

  “Over what? Talking to that old biddy, Cecilia Preston? Or those others you went to see? They’re nuisances at best.”

  “I would have liked to meet this Studevant,” Asa said.

  “There’s no one I admire more in this world.”

  Noona had been uncharacteristically quiet but now she heatedly asked, “Is it admirable of him to force himself on young women?”

  “My deputy told me that Cornice and Laura Baker were two of those you visited,” Pollard replied. “Flat-out liars, the pair of them.”

  “Laura seemed believable to me,” Noona said.

  “Think about it,” Marshal Pollard said. “Arthur Studevant can have any female he wants. Hell, women are always throwing themselves at him on account of his money. Do you honestly think he needs to force himself on a no-account girl like Laura?”

  “Maybe he does it for the thrill,” Noona said.

  “Some people are perverse that way,” Byron said, staring at Pollard.

  “All right. That’s enough.” The lawman straightened. “Agar, get them on the damn train. And make sure they stay on until it pulls out.”

  “I’ll remember you for this,” Asa said.

  “Just so you do your remembering in Texas.”

  Deputy Agar placed his hand on his six-shooter. “You heard the marshal. Pick up your bags and climb on board.”

  Noona went first. Byron second. Asa paused on the step to look down at Pollard. “Give Studevant a message for me.”

  “I’m not your errand boy,” the marshal said gruffly. “Write him a letter.”

  “Tell him I’ve never seen an uglier town.”

  “Ugly?” Marshal Pollard repeated, and gestured. “Did you look around while you were here? Ordville is about the most—what’s that word—picturesque town you’ll find. What with the mountains and the new buildings and the clean streets and the tony way everybody dresses, it’s downright pretty.”

  “The ugliness I mean is a cancer that has spread all through Ordville, but most folks don’t realize it.”

  “What’s he talking about?” Deputy Agar asked. “Who is it has cancer?”

  “Damn me if I don’t think he’s talking about Mr. Studevant and us,” Marshal Pollard said.

  “He’s what?”

  “Like all cancers,” Asa went on, “it has to be cut out.”

  Pollard came to the step. “Forget about Ordville. Forget about this cancer you think it has. Go back to Texas and find another town to tame. Because so help me, if you show your half-breed face here ever again, the moment I set eyes on it, I’ll shoot you dead.”

  57

  Asa made it a point to sit by a window on the station side so the marshal and his deputies could see him, Noona, and Byron.

  “I hate slinking off with my tail between my legs,” Noona complained.

  “You don’t have a tail, sis,” Byron said. “I do.”

  “Enough about tails,” Asa said. He stared out at the law dogs, and Marshal Pollard glared back.

  “You sure made him mad, Pa,” Noona said.

  “I aim to make him a lot madder.”

  Other passengers filed on and presently the whistle sounded and the conductor started down the aisle collecting tickets. The locomotive chugged, spewing a thick column of smoke, and the wheels began to turn.

  “At last,” Noona said.

  Asa shifted and stared back at Pollard as the train got under way. He kept on staring until a bend hid the station.

  “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Byron said. “To get his goat.”

  “Temper is a weapon,” Asa said. “You make a bad man mad, he gets careless. And when he’s careless, he’s easier to kill.”

  “I never thought of it like that.”

  “I think of everything like that,” Asa said. He settled back and folded his arms. “Now we wait for Denver.”

  “Our tickets say we’re supposed to switch to another train,” Noona mentioned. “What if they check and find out we didn’t?”

  “I doubt they’re that thorough,” Asa said. “Pollard reckons he’s scared us off. But even if he does, he’ll have no idea where we got to.”

  “He might suspect later on,” Byron said.

  “Let him. Suspicion isn’t proof. He’ll have to catch us or kill us to have that, and we’re not about to let him.” Asa cocked his head. “This plan of yours, son. I honestly don’t know if it’s brilliant or insane.”

  “I do,” Noona said. “It promises to be great fun.”

  “Don’t make the mistake of not taking this seriously,” Asa warned.

  “You know me, Pa,” Noona said. “I’m always serious except when I’m not.”

  “I’ve never been more serious about anything,” Byron said grimly. “I never thought of myself as vengeful, but I guess I am.”

  “Revenge, son,” Asa said, “is another word for justice.”

  “Is what we’re doing really just? Or are we deluding ourselves?”

  “You saw how it is there. Or didn’t that beating teach you anything?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “Please don’t start, you two,” Noona said. “We’re together on this one, aren’t we?”

  “Yes,” Byron said, “we are.”

  In silence they watched the scenery roll by. In the distance, peaks reared miles high into the bright sky, a few gleaming white with snow. Closer, the mountain slopes were thick with forests of pine and spruce and ranks of tall fir, sprinkled here and there with stands of aspens that in the autumn would display spectacular colors.

  The train passed through valleys green with life. In some cattle grazed, a ranch sprawled, and in other valleys the soil had been tilled and a red or white farmhouse was basked in sunshine.

  W
ildlife was everywhere. They saw elk higher up and deer lower down. Eagles and hawks soared. Ravens and jays and a host of songbirds did what birds do.

  “This sure beats Texas,” Noona said at one point.

  “Texas has nice parts, too,” Asa said.

  “Not as nice as this.”

  “I like the Poetry House,” Byron said wistfully. “When this is over I’m going back. I wrote Myron a note so he wouldn’t think I deserted him.”

  “You did what?” Asa said.

  “All I told him was that I had to leave, and I’d explain when I saw him again.”

  “Damn.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “If Pollard finds out, he might suspect.”

  “Myron’s not about to show it to him. Relax. Our plan will work just fine.”

  “It better,” Asa said, “or we’re liable to find ourselves gurgling at the end of a rope.”

  “No rope for me, thanks,” Noona said. “Or prison, for that matter. I couldn’t stand being caged like some poor critter. I’d shoot myself first.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Asa said.

  58

  The Express rolled into Denver on time, as it nearly always did when the weather cooperated.

  In the thirty years since a gold rush saw its founding, the city had prospered. The largest city along the front range of the Rockies, with a population of over thirty-five thousand, each year the number climbed.

  “It’s a regular beehive,” Noona commented as they started their search.

  The buildings weren’t as new as in Ordville. The people didn’t dress as fashionably. Despite its size, Denver had a frontier atmosphere—and a reputation for violence and some of the sassiest whores this side of anywhere.

  No one paid any attention to the Delawares, which suited Asa fine. No one would remember them should Marshal Pollard or one of his deputies come to Denver and ask around.

  They roved along various streets until they came upon a clothing store.

  “This should do us,” Asa said.

  It did. They each bought new clothes.